


Candles

by Carmilla



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Sex Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-19
Updated: 2010-07-19
Packaged: 2017-10-10 16:27:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carmilla/pseuds/Carmilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Willow and Tara and sex magick, oh my!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Candles

The first time, she'd blown out the candle. She'd needed to; it didn't quite seem real, and to have had light, to have been able to see all of that - it would have been too much, then. She wouldn't have believed it; she wouldn't have been able to.

But if she couldn't believe her eyes, she could believe her other senses. Believe her fingertips as they quested over that soft, soft skin, softer even than candlelight made it look. Believe her lips as they met Willow's again and again, finding each other as unerringly as if they'd been doing this all their lives. Believe her tongue as it traveled across an arching throat, down over the rippling stomach, dipping in and out of the naval like a promise, down, down.... The warm assurance of the hands undressing her, the brush of Willow's hair over her bared skin, the taste of her - musk and saltearth and perfect, perfect, perfect - that she could believe in. She could trust those things enough that she let Willow light that candle again afterwards, and looked at her, sprawled across her bed in easy satiation; and suddenly she could afford to believe it all, because Willow wasn't going anywhere, and she had dropped an arm across her waist and giggled against her neck in sheer delight.

Tonight, they had candles lit all over the place, in the alcoves in the walls, on the bookshelves, and in a low circle around where they were to work. They'd made it comfortable; a deep, thick rug to lie on, the room kept pleasantly warm. Tara was glad of it, skyclad as she was. The thick smoke from the incense was making her head swim.

Wilow, quiet and impressive in a dark red robe, took her hand and led her into the centre of the rug, the turned and cast the circle around them. She looked back at Tara, and grinned, suddenly the friend she had first met again, gentle and shy and with a hint of mischief about her. But she schooled her face once more to ritual solemnity, and when she spoke there was no hint of levity in her voice.

"Lord and Lady, we come before you in reverence. We ask you to bless our rite."

She raised her arms.

"Venus, Astarte, Aphrodite, we ask you to watch over us. We offer up our union as a sacrifice, we dedicate ourselves to you. We ask you to bless our rite."

She took up the bowl of water they had laid aside before, and sprinkled it around the circle. Then she turned to Tara, who was watching her in silent admiration, and touched her with her forefinger, on the right shoulder, then the left, then just over the womb. She was chanting now; from the rhythm and consonants most likely in Latin, although Tara wasn't sure. The repetition of the words and the touches was hypnotic, and she let herself get lost in them. Abruptly, Willow broke off the chant, and, wetting her finger in the bowl again, drew a line from Tara's forehead to her naval. Tara shivered slightly; the water was unnaturally cool against her skin.

"This is the parchment," Willow whispered. "Here the contract is drawn."

She placed a gentle hand on Tara's head and pushed her downwards, laying her out flat on the rug, her arms a little away from her body, her legs slightly parted. Willow knelt beside her. Softly, she ran her hands the length of each outstretched limb. Tara quivered slightly under her ministrations. No matter how many times they were together, she never lost her edge of wonder that Willow was really, honestly with her, loving her, touching her. And now she closed her eyes as Willow trailed her hands up over her torso, smoothing across her stomach, lingering on her breasts as her nipples peaked. Then Willow's head came down over hers, shadowed by the hood of her robe, the flickering candles lighting it strangely. Her lips were lost in darkness; her eyes seemed to gleam.

She bent over her until her mouth was scant inches from the racing pulse-point in Tara's throat. She was murmuring now, quietly but fervently, as she traced a path along Tara's neck and down, over each arm in turn, over her breasts, spiraling round her stomach. Those lips hovered just above her flesh, not quite touching her; she could feel the heat of Willow's breath as her murmur gained strength and rose, an echo of the chant before but infinitely more complex and beautiful. The words rocked her and pounded her like waves along a sea shore, carrying her off in their eddying currents, and then -

\- and then none of it mattered anymore, not the ritual, not the sacred words, not the perfumed air growing pregnant and heavy around them like a thunderstorm, because Willow had her mouth - fuck, _there_ \- and Tara arched her back up in shock and called out words she didn't understand as Willow's tongue plunged in and out of her, coming up to tease her clit and then diving back in again, maddening, unpredictable, right in ways she hadn't even dreamed of, and she could feel her muscles tensing and shaking with the strain of the building pressure as a sudden breeze whipped her hair around her face and brought her skin up in goosepimples, and her thighs were closing around Willow's head as the pleasure focused and focused and at last she convulsed, over and over, and the floor seemed the shake under her and the air to clench around her - and all the candles suddenly went out. When she opened her eyes, for a second she could see Willow's face above hers, smiling triumphantly, lit by a glow coming off her own skin. But it faded almost instantly, and left her unsure of whether it had been real at all.

They lay there together a long time, too exhausted to move, their arms draped loosely around each other. At last Willow raised herself on one elbow, and brushed a strand of Tara's hair from where it was clinging to her sweat-slick forehead.

"So," she said. "How does it feel to be married?"


End file.
